


In The Morning Light

by QuietHurricane



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Morning After, My Hopes and Dreams..., Post 3.21
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 15:05:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14673635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietHurricane/pseuds/QuietHurricane
Summary: A post 3.21 Reade x Zapata fic. It’s a bit angsty, a bit fluffy, a bit hurt/comfort, but also all-around morning-after-ness. This is something I wish to see happen for them (as unlikely as it is).





	In The Morning Light

He’s the first to wake up--no surprise considering he knows that she is in no way a morning person--and he couldn’t be happier about it. Because this isn’t like the stake outs where she’s on edge the entire time, waiting for a lead, either with excitement and raw, coursing energy or fear and a rapid heart rate. No, this is different. This time, there’s no case looming over their heads, no words left unsaid. At least, no words that haven’t been said last night and can’t be said when she wakes up. This time, she’s breathing evenly, sighing every few seconds, the tense lines of her face nearly invisible. This time, she’s in his bed, curled up into his side. He chuckles at that, she’s curled so fiercely into him, hanging onto him like he’s her lifeline, and he wonders why they never did this sooner. He knows why, of course, but he can’t imagine all the days spent apart when they could’ve been like this, cuddled up, her pushing him almost off the bed but hugging him tight to make up for it, even in her sleep.

 

And he takes his time, letting his eyes adjust to the light. Letting his hand slowly move to brush back a few strands of her hair. Just watching her, just holding her, just hoping the floor doesn’t fall out from under him when she wakes up and the reality of last night comes crashing down on her. Because he knows her. He knows that she runs. She runs to avoid the pain, the inevitable hurt. Sure, she takes leaps and chances--he lets out a shaky breath as he remembers her drunken confession not too long ago--but he sees on her face the defeat afterward. The wanting to take it back. The wanting for it to be good, but not believing it ever will be. 

 

He thinks that’s why she didn’t take back her love for him. He wants to kick himself for ever suggesting it, for making it seem like he didn’t care about her feelings, didn’t want to know her feelings, didn’t want to know  _ her _ . He realizes now how much that must have hurt. Much more than her leaving after he kissed her all those years ago. He at least didn’t lay it all on the line--his feelings, that is--he had pain killers to blame. She had nothing to fall back on. And no Patterson to comfort her in the way only she can. He can’t imagine it. Not to mention the fact that he knew it was never her feelings that were the problem. It was his. His feelings and his burying and his trying to move forward without giving up on her, on them. So, as much as he tries not to feel guilty, it still eats at him. For hurting her, his best friend. For hurting Meg. For hurting himself.

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s lost in his spiraling thoughts, but before he can register her breathing picking up slightly, she murmurs “I’m not going to disappear, you know.” He startles slightly and she grins, eyes still closed. 

 

“Seriously, Zapata?” he groans good naturedly.

 

“What?” she chuckles, voice husky with sleep. “You were staring. Too good an opportunity to pass up.” She finally opens her eyes, blinking away the fatigue, just in time to see him roll his.

 

“Well, maybe I finally have something nice to stare at.” He says it quietly, so very quietly, but she hears him regardless.

 

She blushes, curling further into herself only to be met with his warm body. She pulls back at the realization, scooting a little away, but he holds on. Not so tightly that she’s afraid--not that he’d ever really scare her--but tight enough to let her know that he doesn’t want her to leave, that he was expecting her reaction, and that he is here to stay.

 

She freezes before taking a deep breath, looking anywhere but at his face. “You don’t mean that.”

 

He shakes his head. Those weren’t the words he was prepared for. He was prepared for “We can’t do this” and “We shouldn’t do this” and “This was a mistake.” But certainly not that he didn’t mean his affection for her.

 

She doesn’t look up, but still she feels the movement. They are partners after all; it’s her job to know. “You don’t. Mean it.” She huffs. “You just broke up with Meg. You’re rebounding, that’s all.”

 

“I’m not rebounding from Meg.”

 

“Then why now?” She doesn’t want to hope, not yet. She can’t because it can’t be real--this kind of stuff just doesn’t happen for her.

 

“What do you mean ‘why now’?” The ripple of anger startles her slightly so he takes a few deliberate breaths. Once in better control, he says, “I kissed you two years ago.”

 

She scoffs. “You said it was the painkillers.”

 

“But--”

 

“And you said you wanted us to pretend it never happened--”

 

“Yeah, and--”

 

“And all the other times? The wedding--”

 

“Dammit, Tasha, I was scared!” He says it so forcefully, but so full of love at the same time, that she can’t help but meet his eyes. “Now you look at me,” he chuckles darkly. But he takes another breath and continues. Because he knows that she needs to hear this as much as he needs to say it. “When I kissed you the first time, it wasn’t about the painkillers. I said that because you left and I didn’t want to face the feelings there. And the wedding? I tried so many times after that to tell you how I felt and I never owned up to it. And then we didn’t speak for a year. As for asking if we could go back to how things were before, I shouldn’t have done that. I hate that I did that to you.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault. I completely blindsided you at the worst possible time.”

 

“But they were still your feelings. I shouldn’t have asked you to take them back.” 

 

“Then why did you?” She tries to keep calm, but her cracking voice betrays her. His heart aches at the sound. He’s only heard that voice when he was bleeding out, when she was bleeding out, when Patterson was bleeding out. Never has he seen this level of vulnerability elsewhere with her.

 

“I wanted you to take it back so I didn’t have to face my own feelings. If you took it back, it didn’t matter that I loved you once, that I still have feelings for you now. It wouldn’t matter that I cared more for you than Meg because you would never feel the same way.” Her breath catches at his words and he holds her a little tighter. 

 

“I’m sorry.” She lets out a wavering breath. “I’m sorry I ruined things for you.”

 

He rolls his eyes, albeit fondly. Pushing back a few tendrils of her hair, he says, “Don’t you get it? It was my feelings that messed things up with Meg. She was only upset about my feelings, not yours. And if you hadn’t told me, there would have probably been something else that came between us. She kept saying I wasn’t involved enough. So you just sped things up a little.” He grins. “And saved me a good chunk of money.” She laughs abruptly at that and he has to smile, grateful to hear that sound again; he’s missed it. 

 

Still, she’s not finished, she’s not ready. She didn’t take it back when she was sure it wouldn’t amount to anything more than a weight off her chest. Now for it to be real? She’s not sure how to handle it. “What happens now?”

 

“Now,” Reade begins, pulling her up as he moves to a higher sitting position, letting her lean on his bicep so that they’re close, but he can still see her face, “we give this a fair shot.”

 

She swallows. “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispers. “You’re my best friend.”

 

He nods. “Good thing I don’t want to lose you either.” That’s enough for him, however, sensing that she is still worried, he tilts his head a bit and gives her a small smile. “How about I promise you this: No matter what happens with us dating-wise, I will always be your best friend?”

 

“Ricky promised me that. Didn’t happen.” 

 

She’s about to explain further when he takes over. “Ricky put on gang colors and started doing drugs.” She raises her eyebrows at him and he shrugs. “I know why you were at that church. You think I don’t know you? Your past? I mean, I don’t know everything, but I know enough. Enough to know that you didn’t just give up on him and he didn’t just leave you because you broke up. There were other factors at play.” She sniffles. “And the whole drugs thing? Been there, done that, not going back.”   
  
She chuckles, hitting him lightly. “Not funny.”

 

“You laughed,” he says with a grin. “Besides, I think if we can stay best friends while I was doing drugs and you thought I’d killed someone, I think we can get through anything.”

 

She nods slowly, lips pursed. “True.” 

 

“So, we good money?”

 

“Yeah,” she breathes. 

 

“Good,” he says, leaning down to kiss her soft and slow and all the things that last night wasn’t, all the things that show how far they’ve come, all the things that show the relief of finally having everything out in the open.

 

Pulling back slowly, he wipes the tears that managed to slip down her cheeks before she pulls him into a tender hug. They stay like that, just wrapped in each other’s arms until his phone rings once, twice, three times. He reaches over to answer the video call, knowing it must be a lead on a case when Tasha pipes up, a wide smirk on her lips. “You may want to put on some clothes before answering that.”

 

And with that? That smirk and that teasing giggle? He knows they’ll be okay. They’re going to make it.  _ Of course _ they’re going to make it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are so very appreciated :)


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